Page 26 of The Fixer

She popped up to meet him and had to lower her gaze an inch. Beyond the window, on the sidewalk, a flash of green shirt caught her eye as it hurried away. She pocketed the detail. “And you are?”

The intruder extended a beefy hand. “I’m Carl. Weatherly. Carl Weatherly.”

His overexuberant smile didn’t reach his now-visible brown eyes, and she studied him warily as they exchanged handshakes. Something in their dark depths raised the hairs on her neck and was completely at odds with his jolly persona, which made no sense.

“I’m Joy Holiday.”

Carl wore a cobalt-blue polo shirt that accentuated his round belly. Stitched on the left side was a white logo in the shape of a hexagon with the lettersCDW. Below it were words too small to read without her looking like she was checking out his left pec.

His expression brightened. “Holiday. You must be related to Helene.” He immediately dropped his head and wagged it back and forth. “So sorry to hear about her passing. Dreadful, dreadful.” Then he waved toward the crystals hanging in the window. “I see you decided to keep a few and shine them up, eh? Nice touch. Very eye-catching.”

Her defensive hackles went up. She’d been curious how the more unique crystals would look, but she didn’t need or want this guy’s opinion on the subject—it was neither welcome nor genuine. He was a terrible actor.

Joy folded her arms over her chest. “What can I do for you, Mr. Weatherly?”

“Carl. Call me Carl.” He slid out a portfolio he’d had tucked under his arm, opened it, and extracted a business card. “CDW Construction. I work in Fall River.”

Funny. She hadn’t come across the name when she’d been looking for contractors, and Joy prided herself on being thorough.

“Interesting. Where in Fall River?”

He lifted his chin toward the back of the shop. “Right now I’ve got a big remodel job going on at a local restaurant. Ever heard of Dell’s? It’s owned by a sharp businessman, a lawyer named Bruno Keating.”

“Can’t say as I’ve heard of either. Is Dell’s on Bowen Street?”

“No, but it’s only one block over. Well worth the walk.” He smiled so hard his lips stretched over his pearly whites, and she wondered if they might break. “Anyway, I thought I’d stop by, introduce myself, and see how I can be of service.”

“Service as in …”

He looked around. “Place looks like it could use some work, and that’s right up my alley. You have to be careful who you deal with around here. Too many unscrupulous people in this business.”

Joy raised an eyebrow.And are you one of them, Mr. Weatherly?“Actually, I was thinking of tearing it down.”

He didn’t flinch. “Not a bad move. It’s definitely a candidate for a flaming arrow, isn’t it?” He guffawed. She raised the other eyebrow, and he cleared his throat. “We can help with that too. Tearing it down, I mean. What did you have in mind, timing-wise?”

“Well, I—my family and I haven’t decided yet, and it must be a unanimous decision. You understand.” He nodded that he did. “I just arrived yesterday—I’m out of state, you see—and I’m getting the lay of the land, so please forgive my ignorance, but I thought I heard something about a historical designation for the entire town. How does that affect demolishing the building?”

“Doesn’t affect it at all.” His voice was buttery smooth.

“So there’s nothing to the historical thing?”

“Different rules for different folks.” He gave her a sly wink that made her skin itch. “The town would be happy to see these wooden heaps disappear so they can put up something new.”

Not exactly a straight answer to her question, but still, it juiced up her doubts about what Charlie had told her.

“And if I decide to rehab it instead?”

“Sure, sure. We can do that too.”

“Do you have the …” She tapped her chin and looked up at the ceiling, going for her best helpless-me act. “Let’s see now. What are they called? Certifiables? Credentials? Ah. The certifications needed to deal with things like lead-based paint?”

His barrel chest puffed. “Of course we do. Don’t you worry about these silly details, little lady. That’smydepartment.” There came the fake smile again, raising her irritation a rung or five.

Little lady, my ass.

“I’m talking to a few other companies.”

“Oh? May I ask which ones?”

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